Even before the war had begun, in its preparatory stages, Volant is had sat on a knifes edge. The balance between the Tigers and elephants had been upset, and Triarch Laria had been campaigning against it from the start.
To say that all had been shocked when Maegor had been killed was an understatement. The Old Tiger was inarguably an institution in the city, with a wide power base from the soldiers who made up his armies even into the highest ranks of the nobility.
For him to be slain, and by the Barbarians no less, was unthinkable.
Benerro coughed into his hand, pressing his back against the wall. 'But then we did underestimate the barbarians, all of us, as badly as fools sometimes do the Dothraki.'
And now it wasn't just Maegor.
That damped fool witch and her false Hero had led the majority of the faithful into the very maw of that seemingly invincible king. Even whatever cursed eastern magic she wove into his blade proving insufficient to stop the monster that was their king.
And now two Triarchs were dead, and the greatest city in the world had fallen to chaos, even here the cult's power was shattered, believers leaving in droves after the False Azor Ahai that had fooled even him had died, and all the pent up anger, the political schism that the war had suppressed, were torn open like bloody wounds.
And now even he had to flee, for the burning hand had betrayed him, their captain declaring him a heretic as the people of Volant is fought in the streets.
Triarch Laria had sealed the inner walls, no one knew what was happening in the noble district, but the rest of the city had fallen to anarchy, all hoping for a bigger piece of the crumbling pie. Even their cadet cities had declared independence, first Selhorys, unruly at the raiding the shattered army of Maegor had done in their land, and then the others in short succession, sensing the weakness of their mother.
As for Benerro himself, he had cast aside his robes, and he wore a mask and a hood to cover his tattoos.
Oh, he still held the faith in his heart, truly, but he could not proclaim it here. Not now, not when all the despairing murderers were looking for someone to blame.
Thankfully, he still had contacts amongst the truly faithful, people he trusted to see the light even after his failure.
He moved across the street, conscious of a skirmish going on further down, he had the power to win such fights, especially now, in the wake of the Burning of Myr he had felt his sorcery grow immensely more powerful, but he had no desire to enter such pointless battle.
He entered the store quickly, brushing past the empty shelves, and pulling down upon a candlestick by the counter.
The floor behind it fell away, creating a ramp that led down to the smuggler's den below.
Even in such criminal paths, the faith was strong, and he moved with haste to the dock, where his friend awaited.
"Galemar. Benerro bowed." It is good to see you, my friend, I hope that you are well in these troubled times?"
"Oh me?" The man chuckled scratching the back of his head, and Benerro could only smile at the sight, the Smuggler had been his friend and ally even when he was still only a proselytizing slave, yet his habits never seemed to change. "Better than most I reckon. Lots of people want to get out of here, most hope before somebody marches in and takes the city. Local or foreign."
"I'm a little surprised to see you go, Father, I always figured you would be the last one."
"My failure was… egregious, I was taken in by the words of the Red Witch, like so many others. And now Caspial has seized the temple, and I must leave my flock behind." He put his hand on the smuggler's shoulder. "But I tell you when I have regained my understanding when I walk in his light once again? I will return here."
"I'll look forward to it, father." The smuggler nodded, smiling in that broad way he always-
Benerro fell to the ground, clutching at the shortsword which had been stabbed into his gut. His eyes widening in shock as his supposed friend pushed him down.
"What..?"
When he stabbed him the joviality in Galemar's expression disappeared, replaced by a blank gaze, and even though the pain, Benerro realized what was happening. What had happened to his friend.
"Demon. MURDERER" the assassin in his friend's skin recoiled as fire leaped from Benerro's hands, his anger momentarily overtaking the pain, but he could not back away far enough, as fire exploded through the chamber, burning him away.
The priest ripped the blade out, searing the wound shut with the heat, though the pain did not dissipate.
His mind raced, he had to flee, to leave, he could trust no one here not if-
Half a dozen knives pierced the back of the former slave turned high priest as he tried to stumbled towards the boat that might have taken I'm him from the city.
One went through his spine.
More followed, ensuring that his life was taken as the faceless man stepped out of the half-incinerated skin of the Volantene smuggler.
Then, his task completed, he disappeared into the streets above.
It would be months before anyone would enter the chamber again.